I grew up in a house with parents kissing each other in the kitchen and tickling each other on the couch. Gross, right? Wrong. The gross part is after one of us four girls asked them to get a room, my dad said firmly (every. single. time.), “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here.”
Yes, “That’s what she said” jokes fly at family dinners and we may have watched one or two movies we shouldn’t have when we were younger, but nothing beats your own dad reminding you that it wasn’t a stork that dropped you off.
It happens to this day; I’m sure all six grandchildren will know the saying well. They will also hear my mom chime in, “Would you rather us be throwing plates at each other?”
The older I get and experience my own marriage, especially now with a child, the more I appreciate their PDA.
I have never questioned my parents’ love for each other, and in turn, their love for us. It wasn’t when mom was simultaneously cooking, doing the laundry, and helping with homework (seriously, did the housewife genes skip a generation?) or when dad was working two jobs and driving me across the country for basketball games (thanks for that too, though). It was when my dad opened her car door and they held hands at the end of the night.
My heart truly aches for those who didn’t have this upbringing, this love-filled home. And, of course, there were trials (did I say FOUR girls?). Whether this was your experience or not, we should all take a lesson from it.
I strive to kiss my husband in the kitchen and tickle him in bed (I don’t recommend this if he’s already asleep). I long for our home to always be love-filled through every trial and stage, so eventually, my grandkids know exactly where they came from.
So thank you, Dad. Without you, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t be the mother I am and strive for the marriage I have. I wouldn’t have a great man who I know will remind our baby that she was made with love.
Happy Father’s Day.
Sorry, Mom. I started the blog after Mother’s Day. You’re great, too.